


Error of Judgment

by antigrav_vector



Series: CapIM bingo fills - 2016 [13]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Cap_Ironman Bingo, Extremis, Extremis Tony Stark, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Whump, traumatic injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7178948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets taken, and the team goes after him to get him back... and that's when everything goes wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Error of Judgment

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for the 'trapped' square on my Stony bingo card. This one took on a life of its own, and grew out of all proportion to the prompt. But I'm fairly pleased with it.
> 
> With thanks to [Amonae](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Amonae/pseuds/Amonae) for the beta read. Any remaining errors are mine.

Waking up was an exercise in self-control.

Refusing to let more than an initial quiet pained groan escape him, Tony peeled one eye open just enough to take in his surroundings.

Nothing but darkness was visible. The light of the arc reactor revealed a few inches of concrete floor, and no more, it's light not bright enough to pierce the darkness properly.

For fuck's sake. Had the assholes really gone to the trouble of kidnapping him so that they could tie him up and toss him in a dark room?

Closing his eyes again, Tony took stock. Whatever drug they'd used to knock him out after they'd gotten him out of the banquet hall had left him with a hell of a headache and a foul taste in his mouth. Focusing on the rest of his body took him a moment. Once he'd managed it, he could feel a number of bruises rising, but that seemed to be the extent of the injuries he'd picked up between the benefit dinner in L.A. and ... wherever he was now. Or whenever. He had no way of knowing just how much time had passed while he'd been out.

And sometime in the intervening hours, he'd been stripped down to his boxers. Phone, watch, Brioni suit, cufflinks, all of it was gone who knew where. Judging by the quality of his kidnappers, his stuff had most likely simply gotten tossed in a trashcan somewhere.

Thank fuck no one had touched the arc reactor.

Well. Not yet. That could very well only be a matter of time, depending on what his captors wanted from him.

The end result was the same, though. He was stuck here for the moment. Trapped in a pitch dark room that was probably about the size of a small closet, without a way to contact the team, or anyone else, and freezing his ass off. Whoever had him would show up eventually and make their demands, but the longer they waited, the less likely Tony was to even listen to the inevitable 'offer he couldn't refuse'. He had no intention of cooperating, regardless of his accommodations, but this was just pissing him off.

Not to mention that, Steve was almost certainly going up a wall, right about now.

It didn't matter how long he'd been here, after all; it was bound to be well past the time he had planned to be back at the Tower.

Biting back a frustrated growl, Tony tried closing his eyes again. He really might as well rest while he could. Either the team would find him, or he would create himself a way out of wherever this was when his captors slipped up.

He didn't even know who'd snatched him. The guy had only sent his goons to the banquet hall, rather than showing up with them, and been careful not to tell them his real name. No one could possibly be seriously named 'the Sizzler'. So lame.

\------

"You're sure this is the place?" Steve eyed the crumbling brick facade of the condemned factory building dubiously. It looked like it dated back to before the turn of the 20th century, and its placement in a very rundown suburb of Pittsburgh didn't really lend it any credibility. Rather the contrary; it looked about to collapse in on itself, and the decrepit buildings around it were in no better shape. All of it would need to be torn down rather than renovated, if he was any judge.

Natasha nodded, though, reconfirming her assertion. "My sources are reliable, Cap," she said a trifle impatiently, "you know that."

"Point taken. Let's go." Stepping up to the ancient and half corroded steel sheet metal doors, Steve pivoted on the ball of his left foot and kicked out, catching the right hand door just below the handle and neatly breaking it open. It swung on surprisingly well-greased hinges until it hit the wall with a crash. Clearly someone was home and using the place. That door should have creaked open or been rusted shut, by all appearances.

"Well, now they know we're here," Natasha commented drily.

"I wanted them to." Steve could feel the grimly determined set of his jaw and shoulders through his own tension. "Leave one or two awake so we can pry answers out of them when we're done."

"Copy that." With a nod, Natasha ghosted into the shadows off to the right of the door, seeming to vanish into mist.

Cracking his knuckles, Steve scanned the open area of the room behind the door and took off down the left side of the large space.

\------

Even the dim light of the corridor felt searingly bright after the length of time he'd spent in the dark room, and Tony's eyes watered as the door to his makeshift cell opened. He was hustled to his feet in silence by a pair of hulking goons, and frog marched down a hallway floored in rough, uneven cement. The jagged edges caught on his callouses, and every so often a sharp shard of concrete stabbed at a more delicate patch of skin, making him hiss and stumble.

He didn't bother asking questions. These were goons, and low ranked ones, at that. They wouldn't know anything, and probably had orders to be assholes if he tried to get information out of them.

As they moved, the sounds of running footsteps reverberated through the structure of the building, coming from somewhere overhead. It was impossible to tell where, exactly, with the way the sound was echoing and reflecting off walls.

The pair of goons hustled him up two short flights of stairs and onto a catwalk that ran along the back wall of a large open space in what was pretty clearly a bid to leave.

The echoing sounds resolved into a fistfight as they entered the open air of the large space, but he was more interested in looking around and trying to get some clue as to his whereabouts than the internal disagreements of a bunch of hired goons. As his eyes adjusted, the shadows revealed an old factory, fallen into total disrepair. He absently identified the very broken parts of an industrial smelter and a large die-cast. So, probably a decommissioned steel mill. Not many of those around anymore. Much less in the L.A. area. Maybe Pittsburgh or Chicago. Somewhere in the Rust Belt. Cinncinnati was also an option.

A growled question seemed to float up through the darkness. "Tell me where he is."

Tony stumbled, shock cutting through his thoughts, and would have gone sprawling if not for the hold the goons had on his arms. _Steve._

As it was, he managed a short surprised bark of pain as his knee hit the catwalk grating that had Steve's head shooting up, before the goons hauled him upright again and silenced him with a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up or you won't like the consequences," one of them hissed. "Now, move!"

It was too late for them, though.

Tony could see the shadow creeping up on them, thanks to his experience with Natasha's skills. The goons, on the other hand, were oblivious.

Steve's next move broke the tableau wide open. Rather than wait and let Natasha handle things like a rational person -- and Tony really should have guessed Steve would do this -- his lover somehow leapt the thirty feet straight up, bouncing off a wall and the massive crucible hanging from the ceiling joists, to land on top of the goon who'd threatened Tony a moment ago.

The other goon, knocked off balance, flailed as he went over the railing.

Unfortunately, the guy never lost his hold on Tony.

All he could do was try, through the nauseating sensation of freefall and the fear it always seemed to inspire, to protect his head and neck as he fell, bouncing off a few things on the way down. When he landed, he heard more than felt a sickening crunch, and instants later the pain shooting through his ribs and left shoulder sent the world spiraling away into darkness once more.

\------

Natasha gave Steve a sour look before she bounded off to get to Tony. He barely noticed her efficient movements as she dispatched the goon who had pulled Tony over the catwalk railing, more focused on trying not to let the knowledge of what had happened manifest as physical nausea -- his fault, all his fault -- Tony was --

Steve swallowed hard. Not dead. Natasha wouldn't be untying his hands and doing first aid, if he was.

But Tony was definitely seriously injured. Steve could see from where he stood that Tony's left shoulder and arm were at unnatural angles, and that made him cringe in sympathy. With his imagination, he could almost feel the injury himself. He knew damn well what broken bones felt like. That nauseating hot flash of sharp pain and the lingering screech along all one's nerves...

By the time he got down to the floor to help her, Natasha was speaking into her comm, calling for Clint and the quinjet. She took one look at his face and shook her head. "No, Cap," she told him firmly. "Sweep the area, and make sure there aren't any more of them, then talk to the two we left tied up near the door. I'll deal with this."

It took him all of ten minutes to do the things she wanted. The pair of goons he'd questioned didn't know a thing that they didn't, so he'd knocked them out and gravitated back toward Tony and Natasha. His return to her side coincided with Clint's arrival, and in moments, they had Tony prone on a stretcher and were moving him aboard the jet.

"I called in the goons and the address, by the way. You're welcome. Oh, and how's he doin," Clint called back from his position at the stick.

"Not great," Natasha called back. "Broken clavicle, several broken ribs, probably also the left scapula," she narrated, her hands moving quickly as she sorted through the on board med kit. "Hard to tell, but I think neck and spine are clear."

Clint whistled. "What, did he land on his shoulder or something?"

Natasha snorted. "From about thirty feet up."

"Well, shit." Clint gunned the engines, sending the quinjet drifting smoothly up into the clear sky. "We heading to SHIELD?"

At that, Natasha glanced at him, as though he had the authority to decide for Tony. Steve closed his eyes, feeling his expression twist. He probably looked like he was as much in pain as Tony right now. "Do it," he said quietly, "and query JARVIS about anything the medics need to know."

Natasha nodded, and pressed the switch on their comms that allowed them to talk to the armour and, by extension, Tony's AI. "JARVIS," she opened, "we've got him, but he's pretty badly injured. Heading to SHIELD medical for treatment. Is there anything they need to know before they work on him?"

Steve watched her expression carefully as she listened to the response -- sent only to her -- and saw anger chase surprise and relief across her features. "That's _not_ a good idea, JARVIS, no matter what he told you."

Wait, what? Steve's focus narrowed farther -- he hadn't thought that was possible -- in an attempt to work out what the hell JARVIS was proposing from Natasha's expressions.

"JARVIS wants us to take him back to the tower instead." Natasha answered his unasked question. She looked up and caught his eyes as she uncapped a syringe and carefully measured out a dose of strong painkillers before injecting them in the vein at the crook of Tony's elbow. "He says Tony was working on some project he called 'Extremis', which could fix this damage and more. Without the need for a long risky surgery or the recovery time."

"But?" Steve could tell she disagreed with the idea for some reason.

"But it's untested and dangerous. Based on the information available, it'll put him in a sort of cocoon for two to five days, and if his body rejects this Extremis, in all likelihood, he'll die."

Steve could feel the blood drain from his face. "And JARVIS thinks _that_ is a better plan than surgery?"

"He has a point, Steve." Natasha carefully checked Tony's vitals. "Stark's ribcage was already weak thanks to the presence of the arc reactor, and any kind of surgery is dangerous as a result of the impact of the anaesthesia on his reduced vital capacity and cardiac issues."

Steve scrubbed at his face with his hands. "What would you do?"

"It's your decision, Steve," she insisted gently. "JARVIS says the odds of success are about the same for both methods."

Swallowing down his fear for Tony as best he could, Steve chose to take a gamble. "We'll try it JARVIS' way."

With a nod, she put a hand on his knee, offering comfort if he cared to take it. "He'll pull through. He lives to defy all the odds, you know that." Turning to face the cockpit, she called, raising her voice, "Clint! Change of plans! Stark Tower, five minutes ago!"

\------

Everything was prepared for them by the time they arrived on the helipad, and the freight elevator whisked them rapidly down to Tony's workshop, where the 'bots hovered anxiously over them as they got Tony situated as comfortably as they reasonably could.

DUM-E chose that moment to roll up to Steve with a surgical steel tray containing an implement that he couldn't help but compare to one of the fanciful ray-guns in the pictures of his day. It had a contoured handle that looked made to fit Tony's hand, and a large reservoir filled with an iridescent grey liquid. He hesitated to pick it up. Actually injecting this into Tony felt... weirdly final. And frightening.

After a beat, Natasha rolled her eyes, stepped up, and took it. "Last chance, Steve. Are you doing this, or am I?"

Shaking his head, relieved and feeling guilty about that too, Steve told her. "You do it."

With efficient movements, she took the injector and set it to the nape of Tony's neck, then pressed the plunger, slowly but steadily. Taking the injector away when she was finished, she set it back on the tray DUM-E was still holding out.

Tony shouted something garbled, pain the only thing discernible in his voice, and writhed like a hooked eel. Hurriedly, Steve and Natasha jumped over to hold him down, to keep him from injuring himself further, but it wasn't necessary. A moment later, Tony went limp in their hold.

Hopeful that the worst was over, Steve dared settle back on his haunches to watch Tony.

Natasha, however, saw something in the scene that he didn't, thanks to the placement of her hand on Tony's uninjured wrist. "JARVIS, is this supposed to happen? His vital signs just crashed!"

"This is an untested serum, Agent Romanov," the AI replied, voice tart. "I have no prior cases on which to base a comparison. I can, however, tell you that the serum is active."

Steve couldn't help the pained sound that tore free of his throat at that. He'd gambled, and now he had to hope like hell he wasn't about to lose his bet.

It took about half an hour for the cocoon that Natasha had mentioned to form, and Steve anxiously counted every minute.

Relief that it was seemingly working mingled with the worry over the fact that Tony was non responsive and apparently dead. Only the evidence that this 'Extremis' was still doing things, and JARVIS' relatively calm demeanor kept them from trying to interfere -- Natasha had produced a syringe of adrenaline from somewhere and was pretty obviously preparing to get Tony to SHIELD medical, after all.

It took almost six hours after the cocoon was completed for JARVIS to confirm even the faintest vital signs from inside it.

Steve spent every minute at Tony's side.


End file.
